In the Shade of a Pomegrante Tree

The shade of this tree is sickening,
leaving a twisted hollow gut in its wake
Roots rancorous deep,
hapless spirits finding succor beneath its branches
choked slowly into submission with insidious silence


A fruit, half eaten,
discarded to earth in a jealous, negligent fit
An angry fist imprinted into the skin,
clutching the pits with possessive greed

Seeds with such hope in the beginning,
a long, unfilled promise
Longing, love, lust
All the makings of a hallmark romance

But time and pain will have its due,
and partings are ever laced with loss
Seeds rotted, the fist circled tight with vulture clarity
Insistent anger clasping polluted possibilities of yesterday

Bloodied pulp seeps through,
but nails bite deeper
Satisfaction in the mirrored, mocking pain
Seeds, decaying now, tainted inside the vice

From this truth, a tree is planted
and beneath its bough, no rest could ever be found

If the fist had only released its hold,
uncurl its ashen fingers, allow the earth to accept its own
Let it die, let it unfurl into the dirt

The shade of this tree could be clean,
a shelter from sweltering heat
These roots could stretch deep and clear through
midnight soil
 The fruit of this tree could go on to bear
a thousand stories with a thousand different endings

It didn't  have to come to this
It never had to come to this